Failure

Here's a poem I wrote:

Failure

Anger, frustration, embarrassment, pain.

I wonder why it hurts.

All-consuming thoughts,

anxious for redemption.

Why has this happened?

What are you telling me God?

Jealous of success,

unaccustomed to failure.

I have to come through...

but why?

This is a poem that I wrote last night for “Sunday Night Smoke.” In “Sunday Night Smoke” we all get together with a cigar or pipe (no cigarettes) and read poems. Sometimes guys will read poems that they’ve found or the lyrics to songs that they enjoy, but mostly we encourage originals.

I wrote my poem on failure because failure is what I experienced on Saturday. If you’ve read some of the other blogs, you probably know that we went skeet shooting.

Skeet shooting is something that I really enjoy, and I’m usually pretty good at. Saturday was different. After I had picked out a shot-gun, I stepped up to the plate. The gun was a little lighter and shorter than I was used to, but I thought that would be a good thing. It was not. I missed all 5 clay targets that were thrown in front of me. I have literally never missed 5 in a row before, not even my first time shooting.

After the 3^rd one that I missed, Mark said “I think it’s the gun.” Then I missed the 4^th one and he said “pretty sure it’s the gun.” When I missed the 5^th one he said “dude, it’s the gun. Get a new gun.” I felt a small sense of relief, but not much.

Last year, we did the same thing. We had 5 shots per person. I hit all 5 targets. Then we went out hunting for quail. I took two shots...killed 2 birds. I didn’t miss anything significant all day. Naturally, this year, I had every reason to believe that I would hit at least 4 out of 5. I expected it.

I’m not used to failing; I’ve always been pretty good at most things that I’ve tried. I’m not really spectacular at anything, but pretty good at most things.

For instance, I got up on a wakeboard the first time I tried. By the end of the day, I was jumping from one side of the wake to the other. On my 6^th time, I landed a flip.

It’s been this way as long as I can remember. I don’t fail much. I don’t allow myself to fail. I always feel like I have to come through, but why?

I’m starting to realize how truly afraid I am of failure. It’s shaped my life more than I’ve known. Looking back, I see how many times that I chose safety over risk. If I’m honest with myself, I can see that I majored in finance because it was safe. It’s a “go anywhere, do anything” major. Not much risk involved, you’re practically guaranteed a job after college.

When applying to colleges, I got accepted to Miami of Ohio. I actually went up there to audition as a vocal performance major. They accepted me into the program and offered me a scholarship. I didn’t take it. Why? Because I was afraid. What good is a vocal performance major anyway? What am I going to do with that? “Either I’ll be famous, or be a music teacher” I thought to myself. It’s very unlikely that I’ll be famous, and I DON’T want to be a music teacher. Music teacher was “failure” in my eyes, so I didn’t bother trying.

When I was a kid I was a pretty accomplished child actor. I was in a number of large production plays. I received praise from many people, whether it was other actors, theater goers, or even newspaper columnists. I wanted to be an actor when I grew up. Then I was in a professional play. All of a sudden I realized that these people were “professional actors.” They did this for their career. They couldn’t have been making a lot of money. Once I saw that there was a VERY slim chance that I would make it as a famous actor and the alternative was being THIS kind of professional actor, I didn’t want to be an actor anymore. I wasn’t willing to take that risk. I was afraid of failure.

I knew I was pretty good at singing and acting, but probably not the best. I was afraid of failing, and success was measured in money. Failure meant not being rich. I wasn’t willing to take that chance, so I decided to devote my life to something where I was likely to make a lot of money: Finance.

I’m still unpacking a lot of this, but I know 2 things: I’m afraid of failure, and I’m afraid of not having money. I’m seeking The Lord in both of these things and gradually finding healing. Evidence of that can be found in the fact that I took this job at Training Ground. I have to “raise support” while I’m here. Talk about stepping out of my comfort zone and subjecting myself to the possibility of “failure.”

That’s all for now.

First Place: Greatest Guy in the World. Second place: never heard of him.

Lately I’ve been reading Life Magazine’s Greatest Adventures of all time. It’s packed with story after story of epic adventures. Some of the stories are about a specific adventurer’s life of adventure (like Jacques Cousteau) but a lot of the stories are about “Firsts.” There’s the story of the First trip to the North Pole, First Trip to the South Pole, First trip to the Marianas Trench (deepest part of the ocean), First ascent on Everest.

In reading these short stories of famous adventurers, I’ve been thinking...how cool would it be to be the First to do....something? I don’t know what yet.

What is there left to do? The highest mountain has been climbed; the deepest part of the ocean has been reached. Man has flown around the globe; man has gone into space; man has walked on the moon!

Last summer we were hiking in Rocky Mountain National Park. We came to a remote lake, miles from any road or building. I thought to myself, “Wow, I’m in the middle of NOWHERE. I wonder how many people have ever even been here!” Then I saw a plaque on a rock.

A few weeks later, some of us climbed the mountain in the backyard of the Training Ground house. It was a really tough climb. Once we got to the top we were exhausted and felt like we had truly accomplished something. I thought there was NO WAY that we’d ever see another person while on top of this mountain, and THEN we met a nice couple from Tennessee that had hiked up the rather easy trail on the other side.

I’m sure there’s something that I could do, I just don’t think that I’m creative enough to think of it. Even if I was, I don’t think I’m passionate enough or enough of a risk taker to go for it.

There’s a guy right now (Jeb Corliss) who has been training to jump out of a plane and land without using a parachute...I don’t think I’m up for that challenge.

It seems like everything I could think of to be the first at is going to be extremely dangerous. But I guess that’s the point right? People are going to think you’re crazy...until you come back a success.

I guess we can’t all be Neil Armstrong.

Feeding A Baby

Cory and his wife Christine recently had a baby; they named Cora Sage, but call her "Sage". This baby is so incredibly cute & calm. I had never seen her cry...until last Sunday.

James was holding her and sitting in the chair next to me. She stared at me with those big blue eyes and I was hooked. I was like putty in her tiny little hands.

Maybe I was just making it up, but I could have SWORN that she was reaching for me. As she sat on James’ lap, it looked like she wanted ME to hold her, so I asked James if I could. He obliged. He handed me her tiny little body and I pulled her close to my chest.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve held a baby. It’s been a while. Additionally, I’m not sure that I’ve ever held a baby that young: 4 months old just the other day.

We sat there face to face only inches away. She was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Her tiny little arms seemed to be embracing me as much as possible. Out of curiosity, she began to grab and play with my beard; so tiny and gentle.

As I held her, I asked Cory “does she EVER cry?” He told me that she cries when she’s hungry or tired...and that’s about it.

Apparently she began to get hungry. It happened in an instant. One minute she was staring wide eyed at the people surrounding the table, the next minute she was squirming, arching her back, and letting out a wail. On the outside I may have looked composed, but on the inside I began to panic. This baby was giving me a bad rep! She was perfectly fine while everyone else was holding her, but 3 minutes after I get her she starts crying. What do I do!?

Christine to the rescue. She asked me to continue to hold Sage and Christine whipped out her baby bag faster than you could say pampers. She pulled out a bottle as if from a holster, grabbed a bottle of Dasani, found the powered formula (already measured to perfection) and mixed a batch of fresh baby milk.

I was fully ready to hand Sage back to her mother as Christine finished preparing the bottle, but as she tightly closed the lid, she said “You’re welcome to feed her, or I will if you don’t feel comfortable.”

Uh oh...I hadn’t planned for this. I was on the spot. Sure I could have wimped out and handed Sage back to her mother, but I gave myself a pep talk...I knew I was better than that. I decided to finish what had been started. I was up for the challenge.

What seemed somewhat overwhelming at first became nothing short of another beautiful experience. I asked Christine “Ok, What do I do?” to which she replied “just put the bottle in her mouth...Sage will do the rest.” And she did. The crying stopped instantly. Sage had gotten what she was asking for.

So there I sat, a 4 month old baby resting in the crook of my left arm and a fresh bottle of formula in my right hand. Sage did the rest. A newly found peace returned to the table. I just stared at this little life form in my arms in complete awe.

What an incredible miracle a human life is! I never think about it with adults or even small children, but with a baby, it’s different. This thing is new. She’s only 4 months old. A human created from humans by the power of God. 4 months ago she didn’t exist except in the womb. 13 months ago (9 + 4) she didn’t exist at all! Incredible.

How many different things have to line up in order to create a human life? Countless. Without going into details, it seems that everything has to be perfect in order for a baby to be created. That’s a miracle in my book.

So, Sage drank the bottle in what seemed like no time flat. Now it was time to burp her. Christine offered again but I wanted the whole experience. I asked for some tips and promptly got to it. Apparently you’re supposed to rub her back (much more firmly than I thought was safe, I might add) and top it off with the occasional pat. I was doing my best but it didn’t seem to be working.

“How do I know if she’s burped or not?” I asked. “When she burps, you’ll know it.” Cory replied. “She’s not going to spit up on me is she...it’s ok if she does.” I inquired. “No, the formula makes her spit up sometimes but not right away.” Christine added.

More back rubbing. More patting, then finally, a burp. It was small and unassuming. I wasn’t entirely sure that she was done. I asked if I should continue but Christine said Sage was probably finished. Victory!

A sense of satisfaction came over me as I looked at her tiny little baby eyes. I had the sneaking suspicion that to some degree we understood each other. It was beautiful.

Then she sneezed on me.

Sledding

We just got back from our first wilderness trip to Snowy Range, Wyoming. It was an incredible time.

At the beginning of the trip, we hiked a few miles on the road before reaching the trail. Once we got to the trail head, we put on our snowshoes.

My experience with snow has become increasingly limited in the past few years. I’ve been on a couple of snowboarding trips here and there (nothing big since my snowboarding injury two years ago) along with my trip to Snowy Range last year and that’s about it. This year was even better.

It took almost no time at all for me to re-familiarize myself with snowshoes. Once you get used to them (and remember that you can’t try to walk backwards) it’s really like riding a bike.

We hiked in a few miles and set up camp. It was a great first night. The guys were prompted to spend some time in the bible reading a passage that Xan and Cory had given them and then they spent some time in prayer.

Then we circled up, had a great dinner of “pizza bagels” and then got right into discussion. We talked about what it must have been like for Jesus to call the disciples and whether or not these Training Ground participants could identify with being called in that way (to Training Ground).

Day 2 was where the fun REALLY began. We got up in the morning and hiked to a new campsite. We made great time and were able to camp much closer to our final destination than expected. The surroundings were beautiful; we set up our tents in what seemed like a very small valley so that wind would be blocked from either side. We were wrong.

The “valley” turned out to be more of a wind tunnel in which the wind came tearing around the corner of a small field and channeled itself right into our tents. Not the ideal camping spot.

In the midst of setting up the tents, I realized something. These hills on either side of us looked remarkably like sled hills.

I wasted no time. I started looking frantically for something to use as a sled. My first thought was to use a sleeping pad, but no one would let me use theirs, and mine had too many straps on it (it converts to a chair).

Finally, I settled for a waterproof pack cover. I reached the top of the small hill, hopped in the cover, and pushed off. Pretty anti-climactic. The pack cover simply wasn’t rigid enough to navigate the bumps and dips of the snow. I made it down the hill, going at a snail’s pace.

Then to the snowshoes. Surely I could figure out some way to avoid using the metal gripping features of the shoes and use them as skis. It worked briefly, but then I caught the metal edge and took a small spill. Another failure.

Back to the sleeping pad. I simply would NOT give up on this idea. It still seemed like the best option! No one would let me use their pad, so I eventually took matters into my own hands. Dave, the other intern, had gone off to get water. His pad was as good as mine. I noted publicly that if I ruined his pad, I would allow Dave to use mine, and I climbed back to the top of the small hill. I sat down on the pad, rolled it back like a toboggan, and pushed off. EUREKA! My plan had worked! The sleeping pad had effectively become a somewhat flexible toboggan!

After a couple more trial runs, some of the guys began to express more interest. A few guys gave the sit-down method a try, but it was Clarke that finally took the plunge head-first. It was clearly the way to go. Enough testing, we’re ready for the real deal.

Me, Clarke, Robb, and Rem grabbed our pads and began hiking up a much bigger mountain. We set our course and made a goal to get to the first rolling ridge about half-way up.

As we reached our goal and looked down, I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t jump a little bit. It was much steeper than I had anticipated. I think we were all a little concerned, but still up for it.

What would have been a nice enjoyable ride on either a snowboard or skis, looked like a death trap while I clung tightly to my half-inch foam sleeping pad. I honestly had no clue what was going to happen, but I anticipated break-neck speeds.

Once we re-gained our breath (we were somewhere around 10,000 feet elevation), we all got in our ready positions: hands gripping the front of the pad, squatting down, and ready to dive. We were all going head-first. There was no other option.

On the count of three, we all dove. With our weight hitting the snow, we all sank for a moment. I was about to be VERY disappointed, and then the pad resurfaced. We were moving. It was awesome.

I let out a couple of yells as we rode down the mountain. We weren’t going as fast as I would have expected, but still quite fast...maybe 25 mph.

The little kid inside me wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to go again. I wanted to climb higher and go faster. James and Rem were quick to act when I said “I think I want to go again.” The three of us began climbing.

We set our goal about 100 feet higher than the last time, aiming for the top of a curve in some snowmobile tracks.

As we climbed, we could faintly hear some of the guys down below trying to communicate with us. Perhaps they were telling us to go higher, maybe to hurry up, I couldn’t really tell. However, once we got about 50 feet above our previous drop-in, there was no mistaking the bellowing voice of Ryan Phillips yelling “THAT’S FAR ENOUGH!” Our climb was over.

We saddled up on the sleeping mats for another ride down. I set my sights for the rut that I made on the previous run. Off we went. It was an even slower start than last time until I steered my way into the rut from the run before. I was off. Much faster than last time with a top speed of about 35 or 40 mph...on a sleeping pad. What an amazing experience. The child inside was satisfied.

There’s an eagerness about this place that just makes young men want to experience life in a whole new way. It brings us to a place in which we’re willing to have fun like we used to, before the pressures of the world stifled our spirits.

The 12 guys this summer have come to do things differently, to do life in a way previously unbeknownst to them. To step out of the box a little bit. To be willing to make mistakes. To some extent, live like a child again.

It reminds me of Mark 10:13-16 in which Jesus talks about people receiving the kingdom of God like a child. Of people having child-like faith.

Here is the passage in it's entirety:

¹³People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. ¹⁴When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. ¹⁵I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it." ¹⁶And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

Wouldn’t life be better if we all stopped to indulge the child within us every once in a while? Whether it’s sledding, eating an ice cream cone, or swinging on a swing set, these types of simple pleasures remind us that we are ALIVE and that life can be fun!

It also makes me think about John 10:10 when Jesus says "I have come that they may have life and have it to the full."

I want to experience the abundant life that Jesus has to offer.

Learning to Fly-Fish

A few weeks ago we started fly-fishing and through it, God has tested my patience and taught me new lessons.

It all started with a day of learning at “The Angler’s Covey” fly-fishing store. Xan and Cory had told us that we were going to get up early on a Saturday morning and meet at the Angler’s Covey by 8:30am. I had a hunch that we weren’t actually going to be fishing yet, but I figured we were going to be just picking out some flies or something.

I have been fly-fishing a few times with friends and felt like I knew a fair amount. Not that I was a great fisherman by any means, but I thought I knew the basics. I was wrong. The day started with Fly-fishing 101. It was a “Basics of fly-fishing” class taught by who I believe to be the owner of the Angler’s Covey. In that hour long class, I learned more than I had in the 3-4 times that I had been actually fishing. The teacher put into words things that I had taught myself through trial and error. For instance, he talked about how a good cast involves loading your rod like a catapult, and the concept of “shooting the line”.

We learned about different types of rods, different types of lines, leaders, tippit, fly presentation, etc. I began the day thinking that I knew something about fly-fishing, but as the day progressed, I realized how much of a novice I actually was.

After Fly-Fishing 101, we went to a class on fly-fishing knots and then we took a class on aquatic insects.

The class was taught by a guy who worked at the Angler’s Covey and had a degree in aquatic entomology. Talk about a man who is passionate about fly-fishing, this guy loves fly-fishing so much that he devoted his life to the study of the insects that fly-fisherman try to mimic!

He told us about 4 types of flies that we really needed to know: May flies, Caddis flies, Stone flies, and midges. He also told us about the life cycles of these bugs. Midges and Caddis flies go through 4 phases in their life cycle while May flies and Stone flies only go through 3. He told us about how these flies live in the water but as they go through their life cycles, they eventually emerge, spread their wings, and fly.

All of a sudden, fly-fishing made sense. I finally realized the interconnection of the sport and the lifestyle of a fish. In traditional fishing, you stick a worm on the end of the hook and hope that a fish is stupid enough to chomp down on it. In fly-fishing, you are truly thinking like a fish. You are finding out what their food source is and then trying to mimic it.

I also learned that different flies hatch at different times. If you try to throw a May fly out there when Caddis flies are hatching, the fish probably won’t bite. It’s incredible! At a certain point I realized that fly-fishing isn’t just fishing....it’s hunting.

Although I learned a lot throughout the day, I was a little frustrated at the fact that I wasn’t able to pick up a rod and start casting. I consider myself to be a pretty visual learner. When I see something, I get the basics of it and I am usually able to do it with reasonable competence shortly thereafter. However, that entire day, we were all around fly-fishing but we were never able to grab a rod and start throwing the line around. It was truly a lesson in patience.

Later that day, we went to Tim’s house. Tim is one of the men involved in the program to teach and mentor us. In stepping into Tim’s garage, it is clear that he truly has a passion for fly-fishing. It was amazing. He had an old watch-maker’s desk that he had turned into his fly-tying station. There were probably 40 or 50 little drawers that were filled with hooks, beads, feathers, wire, thread, etc. All for tying flies. As he told us a few stories and showed us a few pictures, I knew this guy was a fly-fishing master.

After the pit stop at Tim’s house, we drove out to a river to see fly-fishing in action. If I was frustrated at not being able to pick up a rod at the Angler’s Covey, this was even worse. We got out to the river and broke up into small groups. We were each with one of the leaders...and we just watched. They talked about what they were doing, told us how to approach the river, showed us how to cast, how to “mend the line”, and countless other things about fly-fishing...but I still never touched a rod!

I felt as though God was thwarting my attempts to just jump into things like I usually do. So many times I have thrown myself at things with minimal instruction and then hated the fact that I knew nothing about what I was doing. It was apparent that both God and the program directors wanted to TEACH us about fly-fishing and once we were ready, they’d let us fish.

It was a completely new concept for me. I’ve realized that I haven’t been taught many things in life. It’s mostly been that I’ve simply learned from watching. Certainly it’s a good quality to be able to DO from only seeing, but now I can see that in many ways it’s kept me mediocre at a lot of things. It’s evident now that it’s impossible to become truly great at anything without learning it from someone else.

Throughout the week following, we had many more lessons about fly-fishing. Tim came back to teach us more about the sport and was accompanied by a man named Ron who shares the same passion that Tim does. We watched a few movies, talked about our previous fishing experiences, and finally, they deemed us worthy to fish.

It was a week later that we got to actually fly-fish. The Training Ground crew met with Ron and Tim at 6:15am and we drove to a place called Rosemont Reservoir. It was a mountain lake at an elevation of about 10,000 feet. It was gorgeous.

Upon reaching the lake, I immediately began falling back into my old habits. I began taking what knowledge I thought I had and putting it to use. I started by removing the rod from the case and putting it together. I then attached the reel and began threading the line. All of a sudden I paused to watch what was happening around me. Xan was busy teaching a few guys how to thread the line, Cory was helping someone tie on their leader, Ron was showing someone how to tie a clinch knot, and Tim was helping someone pick out a good fly. I was in the midst of older men who were here to teach...and I was still trying to do it all myself.

Why is it that we feel as though we need to take on the world by ourselves? Why do we feel like we have to have everything already figured out? Why do we have so much trouble simply allowing ourselves to be taught?

Some are better than others. Some of us can admit that we don’t know how to do something and approach new things with a wonderful child-like willingness to learn. Others (such as myself) feel as though we need to know everything. There’s a certain level of embarrassment involved in asking for help.

I can think of countless times when I’ve had absolutely no clue about a topic and instead of admitting that I was clueless, I simply faked it. Mountain biking is a great example. I know just enough about mountain biking to fake it.

A man that I’ve worked with recently is really into mountain biking. He was telling me about the new Chris King hubs that he got. In reality, I have no idea who in the world Chris King is (I still don’t know...I’m assuming he’s a professional mountain biker of some sort). I also don’t even know what the guy meant by “hubs”. Was it just the “hub” of the wheel or is that some sort of mountain bike jargon for the entire wheel? I still don’t know! But what did I say to him? “Chris Kings...wow...no way...that’s amazing...I’d love a pair of those.” I faked it. I’ve been doing it my whole life.

Back to fly-fishing. Here I am at some mountain lake near Colorado Springs going to fly-fish in what I consider the “big leagues”, and I’m still trying to fake it. I’m still trying to pretend that I have it figured out. On the outside I’m giving off the vibe: “I don’t need help setting up my rod...I’ve done this before...I’m practically a pro.” On the inside I’m thinking: “Am I doing this right? Did I put the reel on the correct way? What fly do I use? Was it 5 or 6 turns on the clinch knot...?”

So finally I swallowed my pride and I began asking all the questions that I had as they came to me. It was an incredible feeling. I admitted to myself that I didn’t have it all figured out and so I asked someone who knew. You know what happened? I learned. I was taught. Now I know.

It wasn’t just setting up the rod that I asked about. I began asking questions about casting, fly placement, and eventually reeling in a fish! These men were here to teach and once I welcomed that, I was able to learn.

In a lot of ways, we have a similar experience with God. Whether we think we have it all figured out or think that we SHOULD have it all figured out, many times we simply do not ask for help. I had a resource at my disposal when these men agreed to come to Training Ground and teach us to fly-fish...it was my choice as to whether or not I’d use that resource. In the same way, God can be a resource for anything and everything we ever have questions about...but it is up to us to ask him for help.

We’ve gone fly-fishing many other times since that first day and each time I’ve found myself falling into the same old habit of doing it on my own. Some of those times, I’ve continued in my solitude and done my best to catch fish. Other times, I realized what I was doing and went out of my way to seek the advice of the men there to teach.

It’s clear that when I bring myself to a place of humility and allow myself to learn, it is for the better. There’s a new level of confidence about fly-fishing that I would never have had if I continued to fake it.

I can tell that it’s not exactly a “quick-fix” type of situation that I’m dealing with here. For my whole life I’ve been trying to do it on my own and been reluctant to ask for help in almost anything that I’ve done. I feel as though every new experience will be a battle against myself. I’ll have to fight the urge to “fake it” and allow myself to be taught. Whether that means learning from an older man, friend, peer, etc. or if it means learning from God, the resources are there...all we have to do is ask.

My First Job

Our first day at Labor Finders, we didn’t get any work. Luckily, the following day, Richard was a lot nicer. He seemed to be in a better mood. I get the feeling that a lot of the workers that come into that place aren't very reliable, so I bet that it meant a lot that we simply showed up 2 days in a row.

On day 2, we showed up at 5:15am so we could be one of the first few people there and be high up on the list. Thankfully, our persistence paid off and a few hours later Richard asked if I wanted to move dirt for Rampart Construction. I had already made an agreement with myself that if he offered me a job, no matter what it was, I'd take it...so I said yes. The contractor that asked for workers had requested 4. I was hoping that all 4 of us would have the same job, but it didn't work out that way. Luckily, Richard asked Chad if he wanted the same job and Chad accepted as well.

The first day was difficult. When Richard said "moving dirt" he wasn’t kidding. That's all we did. We dug holes in dirt, spread out dirt, packed dirt down, loosened dirt...you get the idea. Actually, it's difficult to describe what we were working with as "dirt"; it was basically large chunks of clay. Our tools consisted of spade shovels, square point shovels, and picks.

Basically, we were preparing some condo foundations for the plumbers and people laying concrete. There were shin-high concrete walls all around and we were to fill in dirt, break it up, spread it out, pack it down, and even it out. The foundation was probably 5000-7000 square feet.

I'd say that it was probably the most physical work that I've ever done in a day. I was extremely exhausted by the end of it both because I had gotten up at 4am and because I had worked harder than I've ever worked before for 8 straight hours. Even Chad, who makes his living as a carpenter and general handyman, was worn out.

Chad and I had both worked our tails off and our boss took notice. He asked if we wanted a "repeat" for the next day meaning that he wanted us to come back and work for him again. Although neither Chad truly wanted to come back, we knew that it was a good sign that we got invited back. We also knew that it would probably get us in Richard's good graces, so we accepted.

It was 4:30pm when we finally got off work, over 12 hours after we had woken up for the day. Exhausted, Chad and I went back to Labor Finders to return our equipment and pick up our checks for the day's work. (Oh yes, I forgot to mention that at this day labor office, you get paid on a DAILY basis. It’s just another feature of the job that allows for there to be no commitment beyond a DAY.)

So we picked up our checks and I was shocked. $45.32. Seriously?! I had been up since 4am and busted my butt for 8 straight hours and I only got $45.32?? Yes...it was correct. $7.10 per hour for 8 hours minus taxes (and a $2 transportation charge) puts you at about $45.32.

Never in my life have I made as little as $7.10 per hour. When I started my first job at Spring Creek Ranch Golf Course, my starting pay was $6.50 per hour...but I got tips on my check! All in all, that $6.50 per hour probably averaged out to around $8 an hour after taxes!

When I got that check, a whirlwind of emotions went through my head. At first I was just shocked, then frustrated, then angry. I worked harder than I ever had for 8 hours and then got less money than I ever had!!

But then God humbled me. I started to see how blessed I have been for my entire life. I’ve never really had to want for anything. For most of my life, I’ve had everything handed to me on a silver platter. For the people that are doing Labor Finders, this is an every-day thing. They regularly arrive at the office at 5:30am in HOPES that they will be given some sort of manual labor job shoveling dirt or picking up trash for 8 hours so that they can scrape together enough money just to make it another day. And I thought that I had problems.

So I quit my internal complaining, sucked it up, and mentally prepared myself for another day of the exact same thing.

Day 2 was much the same as Day 1. We woke up at 4, arrived at Labor Finders at 5:30, and got to the job site at 7. But...we arrived to find out that everything that we did the day before had been partially or fully ruined. For instance, I had spent a few hours spreading rocks in what would be 4 garages and grading it to a specific height with respect to the concrete walls....as soon as I returned to work, my boss told me it needed to be re-done. There were things that I had literally spent hours doing that I had to completely do over. It was very frustrating.

When the day ended and we were invited back again, we were a little disappointed. Neither Chad nor I really wanted to do it again but we felt as though we didn’t really have a choice. It was only the third day that we were there and we both wanted to stay in Richard’s good graces so we accepted.

Obviously the job was very difficult. Working the ground all day long is tough stuff. But, after about a week and a half of it, God shed some light on the subject. During one of our worship/lesson sessions, we talked about work.

We talked about the fact that in the Bible, it says that man came FROM Earth. Genesis 2:7 says "The Lord God formed the man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” That is to say, God had already created the earth...then God created man. (Interestingly enough, the name “Adam” means “Red Earth”).

Then in Genesis 2:15 it says “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” So man’s first “job” was to work the Garden.

In Genesis 3, which talks about the Fall of Man, God says to Adam: “Cursed is the ground because of you; through painful toil you will eat of it all the days of your life.”

I’ve read these chapters in the Bible before, but it really hit home this time. Man was created FROM the earth and put to work ON the earth. Then God curses the Earth and says that Adam will have to work it and eat of it all the days of his life. Adam’s first “job” was to move dirt in the Garden of Eden and here I am moving dirt in Colorado. Ok so it’s not EXACTLY the same thing, but you get the idea.

Our generation definitely tries to shy away from working the earth. We have equipment and machinery that does it for us now. It’s all about making more money and working less.

Do I think that this is a bad thing? Not necessarily, we’ve become more efficient in a lot of things. What used to take months now takes only days. But, there’s something to be said about working the Earth as God had intended. When I’ve entered into a hard day’s work with Christ, it feels like I’m truly “taking up my Cross.”

My idea of work prior to this experience was sitting at a computer doing spreadsheets on Microsoft Excel. It has been really challenging and yet really awesome working in the dirt with hand tools. There were definitely times that I wanted to throw down my shovel and quit, but there’s satisfaction in knowing that working the earth is what God originally created Adam to do.

In the end it was a great learning experience. While digging in the dirt, I had a lot of time to think and pray. It has certainly been a powerful experience in my spiritual walk.

First Day at Work

Last week we started our jobs. All of us are doing some sort of manual labor. 7 of us work for a construction company...My job is a little different. I've got about a thousand things that I would love to blog about my job but I will just start with the first day.

Originally we were all set up with jobs that we would hold through the duration of the summer. At some point before the program started, one of the employers backed out of the deal. That left 4 people without a job, myself included. The other 3 were Chad, Riley, and Jeff.

What looks and sounds like an unfortunate situation on the surface, has turned out to be one of the greatest learning experiences of my life...and I've only been doing it for a week.

They sent us to a place called Labor Finders. It's a "day labor" office in what is the "rough" part of town. It's right across the street from a homeless shelter, and it's evident that many that stay in the shelter also work at Labor Finders.

Day 1 at Labor Finders was an experience in and of itself. We were told to be ready to leave the house at 4:45am. So the 4 of us woke up at 4:00am, put on our work clothes, packed a lunch, ate a bowl of cereal and left at 4:45am.

When we arrived at the office, there was already a line outside the door. The office opens at 5:30am and if you want any hope of getting a job that day, you'd better be there before then. Josh gave us a few words of advice about Labor Finders...he had been in a similar situation with work last summer. He told us about the manager of the place named Richard...and how we'd have to work hard to earn his respect. Boy was he right.

It's nearly impossible for me to describe the scenario that we walked in to. I really wish I had pictures to illustrate my surroundings. First of all, I was incredibly embarrassed with my clothing. My brand new work boots were spotless and so were my new dickies pants. It made me feel even more out of place than I already did. Everyone's clothes had been "broken in" by what appeared to be years of hard labor. Let’s just say that the attire was quite a bit different from the pastel polo shirts and business casual dress of my every-day life prior to the TG experience.

We stood in line acting like we knew what we were doing, but two older gentlemen saw right through us. Luckily they were nice enough to tell us that we needed to get an application from Richard and they pointed him out. The 4 of us made our way over to the counter as Richard was walking out from behind it. "Excuse me," Riley asked, "can we get a some applications?"

"....um....can I pee first?" Richard replied sarcastically. Off to a bad start.

Finally, they reluctantly gave us some applications and we began to fill them out. As I finished and approached the counter, I saw that Chad was talking to Richard. "Can I use a credit card as my second form of ID?" Chad asked. "Absolutely Not. You don't have a Social Security card on you?" Richard retorted. "No sir" Chad answered. "Well then I can't help you" Richard stated as he threw Chad's application carelessly on a desk behind him. We were not making a very good first impression.

Luckily I happened to have the wallet that I no longer carry and it had my social security card in it. I was safe for now. Jeff also had his card but Riley did not, so Chad and Riley went to a nearby social security office to wait until it opened while Jeff and I awaited employment.

So I sat there...just thinking...for hours. Richard was obviously not very impressed with these 4 suburbanite boys that strolled in off the street with their northface backpacks, mountain hardware jackets, and brand new work pants (ok...I was the only one with brand new work pants but you get the idea).

Neither I nor Jeff got a job that day. This isn't really a “first come first serve” situation. It's not a government funded agency. It's a business. They provide a service to their customers (people in search of labor workers) and they want to provide their customers with the best possible service. That means the hardest workers get the jobs. We had not yet proven ourselves to be worthy. We found out from one of the kind older men that if Richard hasn't given you any work by 9:30, you're not getting work that day. Case closed. Go home. So Jeff and I waited until Chad and Riley returned at about 9:45 and the 4 of us went back to the cabin with our tails between our legs. Not a great first day at work.